Not really. It means I’m smart. Yay for me. But it also means I’m a perfectionist out the wazoo, so all these great ideas I have? All the amazing connections I see between things? All the creative impulses I have? They ride on the backs of turtles, past huge guardians of Quality Control, on their slow march towards freedom. It’s a wonder you’re even reading this. But who knows, you might not – I might edit this before I publish it.

I’m not alone, I know this.

You’re probably a perfectionist, too. And if you aren’t, you’ve probably got enough of an internal censor to grasp what I’m saying, even though you may not be bleeding in the trenches with the rest of us. If that’s you, well, good on ya; pass the gauze, will you?

Perfectionism, in its most beautiful out-picturing, is a valiant effort to maintain a degree of quality that you feel the world deserves. It’s a beautiful place, this world of ours, and dadgum, if you’re going to contribute something to it, it should be as beautiful as the rest, right? “Quality is job #1″, and all that. What a wonderful intention!

Perfectionism, unfortunately, also has a downside. When it’s ugly, it’s really not much more than fear of judgment projected outwards. You fear judgment, so you edit and polish and edit some more until either the thing shines, or withers away to nothingness, with no more substance than those dry, crackly vanilla wafer cookie things they sell at Quickie-Marts.

The bummer, then, is that all too often, your brilliance never gets shared with others. It stays hidden, behind the censors of your fear and doubt, until it dies of loneliness and boredom.

The bigger bummer is that the stuff that does go out tends to have two (okay, three) kinds of reception:

1. Either people love it… which makes your censors now tell you you have an even higher level of quality to live up to, or
2. People love it, but they miss the humanity in it. Because you’ve done them the unfortunate disservice of removing so much of you, so much of your process from it, that they miss out on the learning of what you, as a human being, actually went through to create it. Which, most likely, is 90% of what they’re thirsty for.
3. People hate it. But y’know what? Everybody hates something, and somebody hates everything. You can’t win ‘em all; you can only die trying. If somebody hates it, move on. If you use failure to beat yourself up, you’re only helping the censors.

I’m perfectly aware that this post may be loved. And if it is, great. That’s not why I’m writing it, but great. I’m writing it to help, in case there are others like me out there.

And, you may also think it sucks cheese. If you do, go ahead, unsubscribe, click away, or act like a troll in the comment box. It’ll only save me the pressure of feeling I have to perform better next time.

Because whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay.

And that’s what you need to tell your censors, too. You’re here to stay. The part of you that wants to share, to connect, to help, to give — it’s not going away based on the judgments of others, nor because of the rude comments your censors make. You’ve got a voice, and by god, you’re going to use it (no pressure, mind you).

So do it, whatever it is: Write it. Play it. Create it. Design it. Sing it. Build it. Get it out there. Sound that barbaric yawp of yours to the world, brothers and sisters.

Why? Because we need it. We need it so we can shut our own censors up long enough for us to give what we’ve got to give. Because the gems of greatness exist within us, but they need practice to develop, and room to breathe. Because when it comes down to it, even the stuff that most people would call semi-decent can be the catalyst for one person’s dramatic, life-changing epiphany.

So be the example of bravery for someone else. Create, so someone else will, too.

Image by Infinity Rain.

© Adam for Adam Kayce, 2009. | Permalink | 22 comments